


Not

by Tallulah_Rasa



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, post-ep, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1892550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallulah_Rasa/pseuds/Tallulah_Rasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his memories permanently gone, Daniel has to build a future that's not about the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not

**Author's Note:**

> This is a post "Homecoming" AU. It's a story about negative space; Daniel's not the only one defined by what's not there. Written in 2004, and beta'd by the wonderful Roslyn.
> 
> A warning: Though I wouldn't characterize this as a "character death" story, Daniel doesn't get his memories back.

"I'm sorry," Daniel says again, though he isn't sure if he really is.

"There is nothing for which to be sorry," Teal'c says. He bows slightly, and then makes his way from the examining room. Sam sniffs, shakes her head, pats Daniel's hand, and follows Teal'c. Daniel doesn't know if she's going off to cry, or to immerse herself in something in her lab. He doesn't remember what Sam does when she's upset.

He turns to Jack, hoping for a clue, but Jack's sitting on one of the infirmary chairs, staring at the floor, clenching and unclenching his fists. It's clear Jack wants something -- Jack has always wanted something, ever since Daniel can remember -- but Daniel has no idea what it is. The constant wanting is like someone humming all the time, loudly and off-key. Daniel wants to hit him for it. He doesn't, because he's fairly sure hitting Jack is a bad idea. He doesn't remember why.

He doesn't remember anything.

When Daniel first came to the SGC from Vis Uban, everyone said his memory would come back. Eventually, they said, he'd remember everything. But it's been weeks, and he still doesn't remember Sam or Jack or Teal'c, doesn't remember General Hammond or Janet or Sha're. He doesn't remember Cassie, though he pretends he does, because even _he_ can see how the loss of that memory horrifies Sam and Janet. He pretends a lot, in his new life. He thinks that's one of the reasons he still doesn't feel like a real person. Real people have roots and connections and memories. He, on the other hand, has the things he's pretending to be, and the knowledge of all the things he's not.

Now, it seems, he can stop pretending. After an endless morning facing a not-really human named Jacob and a Tok'ra memory device, after hours of questioning, after prompt after prompt with journal entries he can't remember writing, it's clear to everyone that Daniel is Not Daniel Jackson. General Hammond and Doctor Fraiser and Jacob's symbiote Selmak and Jack and Sam and Teal'c had looked to the memory device with hope time after time, but time after time it had come up blank, like the defective TV in the quarters Daniel had been assigned. Eventually, even Sam had stopped looking hopeful, though she'd said, "There must be something we can do," before the machine switched off. That's what General Hammond had said a few weeks ago, when Jack mentioned that Daniel's TV didn't work. The next day some SF's had carted off Daniel's blank TV, replacing it with a new model.

Daniel's been trying not to think about that. Of course, it's the one thing he keeps remembering.

He wishes he could remember the past, because he hates the way everyone looks at him when he can't. He doesn't like failing, he's found. He'd been pleased that the memory device proved he could recall most of Daniel Jackson's academic reading -- the book and journal pages showed up in the memory device, which Daniel found fascinating, though no one else did -- and nineteen of Daniel Jackson's twenty-three languages. But the memory device also made it apparent that he remembered nothing else, and he'd had to struggle for right response to that. "Sorry" was the best he could do; he could see that everyone was upset by the news. It's possible he's not sorry, though. He's tired of searching for something that's not there, tired of pretending to be someone he's not, tired of trying to please people he doesn't even know. He wants to get on with whatever comes next. He wants to stop being Not Daniel Jackson, and be...whoever he is, now.

He has no idea what to do next. Sam has gone off to cry, or maybe to calibrate an engine, and the General has gone off to file some papers and make some phone calls, and Teal'c has gone off to take Selmak somewhere, and Dr. Fraiser has gone off with the medical staff to discuss their most fascinating patient in private. Only Jack is still around, staring at the floor and making fists, and he's so intent Daniel thinks maybe he's following orders. Daniel wishes Jack would leave, too. Whatever comes next, Daniel wants to do it in his own way, in his own time. Whatever _that_ means.

Instead, Jack stands up and says, "Let's get something to eat."

"Okay," Daniel says, though he isn't hungry. Sometimes it's easier to just agree with Jack, he's found. Jack angers easily, and he's particularly angry over the holes in Daniel's mind. Daniel doesn't understand that. Dr. Fraiser had tried to explain once, telling him about anger as a form of grief. Daniel had nodded, but he hadn't understood. He still doesn't. He knows a little about anger, but he doesn't remember grief.

Daniel wishes that these almost-strangers, who are apparently among his closest friends, didn't feel so much. Their feelings crowd in on him, and he's having enough trouble dealing with his own feelings. Teal'c is okay, but the others make him tired. And maybe annoyed, though he's not sure about that. Naming things, defining them, is tricky without a backlog of memories. He's learned it's easier to stay in the moment, to cling to the basics. Right now, for instance: he isn't hungry, and he wants to hit Jack.

He shadows Jack down the hall, onto the elevator, into the commissary. When he first came to the SGC the commissary overwhelmed him; he's only just started to brave it again, usually with Sam or Teal'c. This is his first visit with Jack.  As Jack starts down the line Daniel follows, examining platters and hefting bowls. He likes this part, trying to decide what he might like. He enjoys discovery, he's found.

They take their trays to a blue-covered table. Daniel settles across from Jack, who wrinkles his nose at Daniel's plate. "Lima beans, Daniel? You took lima beans?"

Daniel shrugs. "They're a nice color."

" _Lima beans_?"

"What?"

"You hate lima beans."

Daniel pokes at the beans with his fork. He can't see any reason not to like them. "I don't know that," he says, hoping Jack will let it drop.

"Daniel, you _hate_ lima beans," Jack repeats.

Daniel puts down his fork. "Look, maybe I do. Or maybe I didn't like them before, because I associated them with...with...I don't know. Maybe I had some experience that made me hate lima beans. Now I don't have any experiences, so I get to start fresh."

"You want to start fresh with _lima beans_?"

Daniel picks up his fork again. He has an urge to stick it into Jack. "I might as well start with vegetables as with anything else," he says. He doesn't know why it matters so much. That's one of the problems now -- he doesn't know what matters and what doesn't. And the only way he can find out is by trying things. Like lima beans. Like doing what he wants, instead of listening to Jack.

Daniel swallows some milk, trying to swallow back how fiercely he wants Jack to be wrong. He likes being right, he's found. The strength of that feeling scares him a little. Also, he doesn't want to spew lima beans all over the table. He's been hoping that he can build up a stockpile of mostly good memories this time around. According to the journals he's seen, the old Daniel Jackson had enough bad memories for two people. Or maybe more; he can't remember what a "normal" number of bad memories might be.

"I..." Jack begins. He gets a funny look on his face, pushes back his chair, gestures vaguely, and bolts.

Daniel thinks about following him, but he doesn't know if Jack is mad about the beans, or behind on his paperwork, or just gassy. And Jack has made it clear that the only Daniel he wants around is the Daniel who knows the difference.

He steers a forkful of lima beans into his mouth, closes his eyes, and chews a few times. Lima beans are...mushy. They don't remind him of anything. They don't taste good. Okay, no to limas.

He looks up at a noise, and Jack is standing by the table, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Sports," he says when he catches Daniel's eye.

"Sports?" Daniel repeats. He's read a bunch of reference books, so he knows something about this society, its politics, and its culture. "Sports" are hobbies and entertainments involving physical skill; _deportes_ in Spanish, but _esportes_ in Portuguese. Sam told him sports were a common topic of conversation, so he'd memorized a list of the most popular ones." You want to...um...play golf?"

"You didn't like sports before. Maybe you do, now. We could watch a game sometime. To see," Jack says, dropping into the chair across from Daniel. He looks hopeful.

"Well, uh." Daniel says."Okay. But I don't like lima beans."

"Oh," Jack says, sitting back. His face goes through some complicated contortions, like he's starving and Daniel's just offered him a piece of cold toast left over from the commissary's breakfast rush. "Well. I could have told you that."

"You did," Daniel says, trying a bite of meatloaf. "It's okay. Um, does meatloaf always taste like this? Because this is--"

"You didn't listen to me," Jack says. He gets up and walks off again. There's some explanation, some _why_ , in his voice, but Daniel doesn't understand it. The old Daniel Jackson understood a great many things, according to the journals Daniel's seen. Of course, it's possible Jack was a mystery to _him_ , too.

Jack doesn't come back. Daniel finishes his meat loaf and mashed potatoes, drinks milk and eats apple pie. It's all okay; nothing special. He has an urge to get a cup of coffee, but that doesn't count. Sam and Janet told him about that.

* * *

 

"So, what happens now?" Daniel asks later, during his regular afternoon briefing with Janet Fraiser and General Hammond in Hammond's tidy office.

"Well, Dr. Jackson," the General says, "Selmak feels..."

"I know," Daniel says. "The person you knew as Daniel Jackson is gone."

The General looks pained. "He's not gone to us, son," Hammond says. "And his accomplishments -- his soul, if you will -- are a big part of this place. Always will be."

"I'm sorry," Daniel says. He looks at his hands, which are not really familiar, and looks up again. "I don't know what to say."

"That's okay, Daniel," Dr. Fraiser says, patting his arm.

"You'll stay here with us, of course," General Hammond says. "There's always the possibility something will jog your memory. And you still have a lot to contribute. There's a lot you can do here."

"And it's not like we can send you out in the world alone," Dr. Fraiser says.

"I might do something I shouldn't," Daniel says. _Like eating lima beans_ , he thinks.

"There are some dangers..." General Hammond says with a sigh, and he explains about the NID.

Daniel chews his lip. "But I don't remember anything."

"The NID may not believe that."

"Oh. Yeah. That sounds about right, from what I read in my...in the journals."

The General clears his throat. "Yes, your journals. We haven't read all of them, in an effort to maintain your privacy--"

"And because we couldn't figure out what language some of them were in," Dr. Fraiser adds with a smile.

"But we have to assume they contain a great deal of classified information," the General finishes.

"I don't know," Daniel admits. "I don't know what's classified and what isn't."

"We'll get it all sorted out," the General says, and as always -- for as long as he can remember, anyway -- Hammond's confidence makes Daniel feel better. "You can stay here on base in the meantime, in the guest quarters you've been using. Dr. Fraiser will continue to monitor your health, and of course you'll have full access to your old office."

"And it's not like you can't go out," Dr. Fraiser is quick to assure him. "You can. You just...well, you'll need an escort."

"For your own safety," General Hammond says gently.

"It's okay," Daniel says. "I don't remember my way around, anyway."

"Dr. Jackson--" Hammond begins.

"It's okay," Daniel says again. "And I want to thank you. All of you. You've been very patient. Very kind. I know this is taking up a lot of your time. And I'm sure it's very hard for you, frustrating in ways I can't understand. I'd like to help as much as I can. Obviously you do important work here.  I'm truly sorry to causele tanto el apuro..."

"Excuse me?" Dr. Fraiser says.

"Again, in English?" Hammond requests, smiling.

"Oh. To..." Daniel thinks. "Cause you so much trouble. You've lost a resource, clearly, since I can't remember my work here. And Jonas left, so you're short-handed. And there's the time and effort it's taking to deal with me. Oh, and the cost! You've given me clothes, and you're feeding me and..." He looks from one still-not-really-familiar face to the other in some confusion. "Do I-- do I have any, um, money? Shouldn't I be paying for...?"

The General and Dr. Fraiser exchange a look.

"What?" Daniel asks, trying to look into both sets of eyes at once.

"It's just -- you sounded a lot like you, then," Dr. Fraiser says. She smiles, which doesn't quite hide the fact that her eyes are filled with tears. "Very much so, in fact."

Daniel tries to smile back. "If you say so," he says.

* * *

Sam starts guiltily as Daniel pushes open her lab door the next morning. "Sorry," Daniel says. "I'm didn't mean to -- I should have --"

"No, it's okay, Daniel," Sam says. She swallows. "It's just..."

Major Carter and I are speaking of a wake," Teal'c says.

"Oh," Daniel says. He knows about wakes; there's a book on modern Western rites and rituals in his office. "Whose?"

"Uh...well. Yours," Sam says so softly it's almost a whisper.

"Oh," Daniel says again. "Well, that's...actually, that makes a lot of sense."

"It does?" Sam looks relieved and confused all at once, though Daniel thinks she's mostly confused.

"So I have been telling Major Carter," Teal'c says.

"Rituals offer closure," Daniel says. "They help ease beginnings and endings." He reaches out a tentative hand to Sam. "I'm here, but my old life as Daniel Jackson seems to be over. The Daniel Jackson you knew is gone."

"But we are grateful _you_ are here, Daniel Jackson,"  Teal'c says.

Daniel can't help smiling. "Thank you, Teal'c. I look forward to getting to know you better. To knowing all of you, and hopefully to becoming friends. But before that can happen, you have to let go of the old Daniel Jackson. And I think I need to, too. Maybe a wake would help me understand who I used to be. Maybe I need to say goodbye, too, even if I don't really know the person I'm saying goodbye to."

"Then we shall have a wake," Teal'c says, and one eyebrow goes up. "More correctly, _another_ wake. We have already conducted this ritual for you before, on another occasion."

"When I, uh, ascended?" Daniel asks.

"No," Sam says."Actually it was...well, I'll tell you about it later."

"Okay," Daniel says. "As long as I can help plan this one."

"You want to help with your own wake?"

"I guess that's not the usual way of doing things," Daniel says. He paces around the lab, picking up a few interesting-looking things and carefully replacing them before turning to Sam again. "But then again, this whole situation isn't really usual, is it? We may have to develop our own, um, rules for...well, for everything. As we go. Kind of like developing a new culture, or a new society, or...what?" he asks, because Sam's smiling. Daniel thinks it's the first smile she's meant since he's been at the SGC.

"Sometimes," she says, "you're still really _very_ Daniel." She sniffles, and smiles again. "Okay, Descended One. You have any ideas about the food?"

"No lima beans," Daniel says firmly. "But I read something in the journals about chocolate cookies..."

* * *

He goes back to his office for a while and is happily immersed in a book when Jack shows up and tells him it's time for lunch. They don't talk on the way to the commissary.

"So..." Jack says as they make their way down the line.

Daniel looks carefully at the fried chicken, the salads, and something called turkey a la king. "So..." he replies absently.

"Could you hurry it up?" Jack complains.

"Uh...no," Daniel says, trying to remember if the red stuff in the turkey dish is a pimento, and what a pimento is.

" _No_? Why not?"

"Jack, there's no one on line behind us. And if you're in a hurry, you can go ahead."

"That's not the point. I want to know. Why?"

Daniel shrugs. He doesn't like explaining things to Jack, he's found. He considers the chicken again, and finally takes a plate. "Kierkegaard," he murmurs to Jack.

"Kier-- _excuse me_?"

"I found a paperback book on the history of philosophy in the...in my office," Daniel says more loudly. He focuses on the dishes on display. Corn bread? No, a dinner roll. And fries, that's easy. But what about fried okra? What's that? And does he like it? He bumps into Jack, who has planted himself in the middle of the line.

"Kierkegaard told you to make me crazy?" Jack asks.

Daniel turns from his tray.  Jack is emitting flood waves of impatience, tidal waves of irritation. Daniel thinks they might be measurable, might, in fact, qualify as a new form of language. "Kierkegaard said all decisions were important. That every decision matters. He said that each decision reveals something about a person, about his principles, about who he is."

"And you think if you take all day to decide what to have for lunch, that's going to tell you who you are?"

"I...um..." Daniel says, turning back to the line, which is much less complicated than Jack. "Well, yeah. In a way. Yes." He takes a dish of creamed corn.

"This is all an act, isn't it?" Jack asks. "You actually remember everything, and you're doing this to make me crazy. Admit it."

"Okay," Daniel says. "What's Key Lime Pie? What do keys have to do with pie?"

"I have to go," Jack says, abandoning his tray.

Daniel has the philosophy book in his back pocket, so he has lunch with Kierkegaard. Eventually Teal'c comes in with SG-11, and he has pie with them. The Key Lime turns out to be a bust, but his next decision, the chocolate pecan, definitely reveals something true and abiding about who he is. He has two pieces.

* * *

They all meet for dinner, and Sam mentions the wake.

"A wake?" Jack repeats so loudly that Daniel expects the dishes on his tray to rattle. "Are you out of your mind? After all the wakes we've _had_ to go to, you want to have one for recreation?"

"Sir--" Sam begins.

"I think it's a good idea," Daniel says, carefully placing a pat of butter squarely in the middle of his mashed potatoes.

"I do not understand your reaction, O'Neill," Teal'c says. "You appear to be greatly upset."

"Ya _think_?" Jack thunders at  Teal'c. "And you," he continues, wheeling to face Daniel. "How can you go along with this? How can you give up like that?"

"Sir--" Sam tries.

_Screw you_ , Daniel thinks, but he doesn't say it because he has the vague feeling he's supposed to stomp out that kind of flash fire. He takes a deep breath, which makes him feel better, so he takes another. "I don't see it as giving up," he says, stabbing his fork into a stalk of broccoli.

"Well, it is," Jack says. "Jesus! I thought you were a better man than that. "

Daniel starts to take another deep breath, but gives it up. He forks up a glob of potatoes with a shaky hand, and then flings it down."At least I...and I don't...but you, you're _exactly_ the man I thought you were."

Jack stares, sputters, and then storms out.

For a few seconds everyone gapes at Jack's empty chair. Then Daniel pushes his tray aside, lays his head on the table, and wraps his arms over his head. "Damn," he says weakly.

"Don't worry about him," Sam says, rubbing circles on Daniel's back. The warmth of her hand contrasts with her voice. "Sometimes the colonel is just..."

"In the past, you often referred to him as an ass," Teal'c says.

Daniel hiccups a laugh, but he keeps his head down and his eyes closed. "It's not that," he sighs.

"Then what troubles you, Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c asks.

"What I said -- I shouldn't have said that," Daniel says.

"You're allowed to be angry, Daniel," Sam says. "All you're going through..."

"It's..."Daniel says. "It's nothing." But he knows it's something. Jack was right, even if it was about the wrong thing. Daniel's re-read enough mythology to know that a man is shaped by his choices. He doesn't feel like he's shaping up as a better man. And being a better man, he's found, matters. It matters a great deal.

* * *

Daniel avoids Jack for the next two weeks. He spends a lot of time learning about the old Daniel Jackson, and planning his wake. It's fascinating; part historical study, part research project. He enjoys research, he's found. And he's good at it. People are happy to talk to him about the old Daniel Jackson. And as they talk, people seem to need _him_ to be that Daniel Jackson a little less, which makes life a lot easier.

From what he can tell, the old Daniel Jackson wasn't so awful. And he wasn't too wonderful, either. That's another thing that makes life easier. He tentatively decides he's feeling happier.

Sam seems happier, too. She comes by Daniel's office to talk, or just to hang out. They talk about her experiments, or about his exhilarating, gratifyingly successful translation attempts. One afternoon she stops by and says, "You know what? This wake is the first party I've ever had that people actually wanted to go to." Daniel thinks that maybe Sam is starting to be friends with _him_ , the Daniel of now, the Daniel who is Not Daniel Jackson.

He's thinks that maybe he can have a life, even if he doesn't have a past.

The only problem is Jack. When Daniel catches sight of him down a hallway or across the commissary, Jack's eyes are cold. He seems to be permanently fuming. Daniel can't find a point of reference for understanding Jack, and not understanding bothers him. And there's something more: there's a story between them, and he doesn't know which one.

"Jack will come around," Sam says. "And we'll get you back on the team."

Daniel hopes she's right. The idea of being on the premier first contact team appeals to him. He wants that part of Daniel Jackson's life back. His retraining is going well, but he can't see Jack accepting Not Daniel on SG-1.

"It'll be okay," Sam insists. "We'll give you a new haircut, and call you Pierre.You can talk in French. He'll never catch on."

Daniel laughs, but he knows the most difficult part of becoming the new Daniel Jackson will be getting back on SG-1. The only way is through Jack, and it seems even the Stargate can't span the distance between them. Did he ever know how to navigate that particular stretch of the universe? He can't remember.

The day before the wake, he decides he has nothing to lose. He goes to Jack's office and stands in the doorway.

"Jack?" he begins.

"That's Colonel O'Neill to you," Jack says curtly, not looking up from his computer.

Daniel's been reading military history, in an effort to better understand the people who work at the SGC. Military minds respond to a controlled show of force, he thinks. He marches into Jack's office and establishes himself, like an enemy flag, in front of Jack's desk. "I think we should talk."

"You've always talked too much."

There it is, Jack is _wanting_ again. Daniel takes a deep breath. It doesn't help at all. "Do you _have_ to make this so difficult?"

"What's it matter to you? You're dead. I hear there's a wake tomorrow, and everything."

Daniel leans over the desk. He knows something is at stake here, something that matters, even if he doesn't know exactly what it is. His heart starts to race, and he wants to hit something. "So...what? You don't have to deal with me? You don't deal with the dead?"

Jack stands up, and they glower at each other, practically nose to nose. "Don't go there, Daniel," Jack says, his voice low and threatening.

Daniel has forgotten anything he ever knew about control. Words spew out of him from a well he can't remember digging. "Are you feeling a little guilty, Jack? Is that why you don't want to deal with me? Or is it something else?"

"Daniel..." Jack warns.

Daniel leans forward a little more. His heart is trying to pound its way out of his chest, his breath is coming in jagged gasps. "What, am I in the way? Too much trouble? What the hell do you want from me?" He slams his hand on the desk so hard his neck hurts. "If you want me gone so damn much, why don't you do it right? Get a gun, and get it the hell over with!" he yells.

He's shaking. His ears are filled with the pulsing of his own blood, and he doesn't see Jack pulling back, doesn't take in the way Jack's weight is shifting. Jack's right hook knocks him flat on his ass.

He doesn't hear a single thing for a minute, and then "Oh, for--!" Jack spits out. "Don't you even remember how to _duck_?"

Daniel sits up carefully, rubs his jaw, gives it a tentative wiggle. "Apparently not," he says. His heart is calming, and so is his breathing. Huh. Interesting.

Jack comes around from behind the desk and hovers over Daniel, breathing heavily. "Oh, hell, Daniel, I--" he begins.

"You know," Daniel says over him, "this is the first time since I got here that I thought we were friends." He pauses a moment to open and close his mouth a few times, holding onto his jaw in case it falls off. It hurts, which makes him feel better. Huh. "I mean, that I understood that...that we used to be really good friends. Or used to really hate each other. You know, that we _knew_ each other."

" _What?_ "

"This," Daniel says, gesturing to Jack and then to his jaw. "Us."

"You're concussed. I'm calling Fraiser."

"No," Daniel says. "Think about it. We were _furious_ with each other."

"Don't remind me," Jack says, but there's no heat in it. He sinks onto the floor next to Daniel. "I might clock you again."

"There, you see? _See_?"

Jack shakes his head and leans over to inspect Daniel's jaw. "Listen, I don't know what kind of books you've been reading," he says, eyeing the damage, "but if one of them said it's okay for people to hit each other, it was wrong."

"No, no. This isn't about customs, Jack. It's about...well, feelings, I guess. I mean, feelings aren't something you remember. You just have them."

Jack stares at him, and Daniel can see something almost familiar in Jack's eyes. "And?" Jack says.

"Being that mad...I don't think that happens without a...a connection of some sort," Daniel says. "Whatever ours is, it must be pretty deep. Must have _been_ ," he corrects, "pretty deep."

"You were right the first time," Jack says. He gets up and goes to the mini fridge in the corner, pulls out a cold pack, and brings it to over to Daniel. Then he settles on the floor with his back against the desk. "Must _be_."

Daniel hefts the pack, but doesn't put it on his jaw. "That's...well, maybe. But I don't _know_ , Jack. It's not that I don't believe you. It's just...I don't know you. I don't know _me_. I don't remember. And I don't know if I ever will."

"So you keep saying," Jack says. "But you have to...somewhere, there's got to...damn it, Daniel, it's like you had your whole life amputated!"

Daniel looks down, and then looks at Jack again. "Maybe," he says. "Maybe that's how it looks. Maybe that's how it _is_. But it doesn't feel that way to me. I don't have a...a phantom pain where my life used to be."

Jack sighed and slumps down against the desk. "Figures," he says. "You have the amputation, and _I_ feel it. Must have something to do with being on the same team for so long." He closes his eyes. "I don't know why I'm so surprised. You've always been a pain."

Daniel scoots over until he's sitting next to Jack. He can feel the cold metal of the desk frame through his tee shirt. On a bookshelf across the room there's a picture he knows is SG-1, though he doesn't recognize it. "I'm sorry. But I can't live my life around a hole, around something I'm not," he says. "I have to be whatever I am now. I have to live _this_ life. Be _this_ Daniel Jackson."

"Yeah, I know," Jack says, his eyes still closed. "Whatever."

"Could you please be okay with that?" Daniel asks. "I want to be on SG-1. I could be a good archeologist for the team, a decent linguist. A good...a good soldier. I'm willing to work hard, to do whatever I need to do. I think I could hold my own. Could you give me a chance?"

Jack turns his head and opens his eyes. "You're a lousy soldier," he says. "But for the rest of it...I don't know. Maybe." He looks toward the door. "It's just -- you -- he -- our Daniel -- always came back before. I keep thinking he's going to come back this time, too. I feel...like I need to leave a space for him. To keep looking for him." He turns back to Daniel. "No one gets left behind. You should at least remember that."

"I'm sorry," Daniel says. "I'm sure you did the best you could for...for him."

"Much good it did," Jack says. "You're--"

"I'm going to a wake tomorrow," Daniel says.

Jack thumps his head back on the desk. "I _hate_ that," he says. "I hate the whole idea of it."

"I know," Daniel says, but when Jack snaps back to stare at him he has to say, "I mean, I noticed."

"Yeah," Jack says. He leans back again, and Daniel can see Jack is looking at the picture of SG-1 on the bookshelf. "I hate saying goodbye," Jack says quietly.

"I, uh, haven't had too much experience with that," Daniel says. "With saying goodbye."

"Yes, you have," Jack says.

"No," Daniel says gently. "I haven't."

"Yes, you..." Daniel can see Jack deflate; for a minute he thinks Jack will collapse in on himself, like that star Sam was so excited about. "Okay," Jack says with a sigh. "Okay." After a minute he turns and gives Daniel a look. Daniel doesn't know what it means. "So, this wake. It's practice for you, is that it?"

"Sort of. But it's also a...a start, I think. A clean beginning." Daniel shrugs, wincing as the movement ripples through his jaw. "I mean, until I find the book that tells me what to do next."

"Yeah," Jack says. "Well, if there's not a book, you can write one. Or an article. For the Journal of Recently Resurrected Archeologists."

"Okay," Daniel says, and he can't help flashing a grin at Jack. "I'll keep that in mind. After tomorrow, I'm going to have a lot of free time."

"Look," Jack says, "about tomorrow. Do you even know where Carter lives?"

"Um, well...no, actually," Daniel says. "But I figured I could ask somebody for a ride."

There's a long moment of silence, and then Jack gets to his feet. "I'll pick you up," he says, offering a hand to Daniel.

"You'll go?"

"I'll drive you so _you_ can go," Jack says. "It's called 'doing someone a favor'."

Daniel lets Jack pull him up. "Oh. Okay," he says. "Thank you." But then there's that itch that's almost familiar, that need to know, to figure out what it all means. "Um...why?"

"Partly because I hit you," Jack says, "And I might be...uh...a little, you know, sorry about that. But mostly..."

His voice trails off, but Daniel can't let it go."What?"

"It's mostly just that you..." Jack finally says, and then he starts again. "It's hard to...because it's like muscle memory. You know? No, of course you don't. Because you...could you repeat the question?"

Daniel nods. He'll have to write this down later; this is another language to learn, maybe one of the ones he used to know. It's funny that the first words he's figured out are the ones for "goodbye", but then, in some languages "hello" and "goodbye" sound the same. "I asked you why," he says. He already knows the answer. He's a fast learner, he's found.

"Oh," Jack says. "Well. The thing is...you remind me a lot of...of...an old friend. A very _good_ friend."

"I'm sorry," Daniel says. He really is.

END 


End file.
